Torn...

Comforted by the fact that self cannot be hurt if no ones aloud to get in... There's a linger that aches at the end of each day that feels alone in ways natural functions are derived of true grins... Brain is the heart wanting to give itself away as the mind haat tendon in control... Sitting in solitude is the insanity of regaining sane when the isolation wad never meant to become all that's known... As the pain slower eats at anything ever being able to adapt to an other willing to be enjoyed... It's like watching others walk backwards so thoughts don't havta admit the void... Lost in Monet's replaying how emotion jus took to many fuckin hits... Believing in anyone is jus not an option due to the price paid is the reality faced... Losing someone new would cripple the interest in ever wanting to say a certain name... When in actuality its a slow death awaiting the unfulfilled passiin left to collapse in tears that fall... Behind locks n tucked away is a place of many twists that conflict with the outside world as selftalksto walls... Afraid to open up for one figures saloon doors that swing both ways... Allowing them to come n go at will as desires fade... So it's the silence that feels right n oh so wrong... As the chest craves to be touched by a head laid upon it jus to listen to the rhythm of its song... Needing someone else's words to complete the message forgotten by one to many attempts to bounce back... It seems strength has different meanings when the light comes in the mornings calling to have at another day with no one in the sack... Leaving the bed inmade jus to return to the same ol bs night after night... Asking one question on both ends of why...